Every Thursday
by agentwhalesong
Summary: Every Thursday, he sits there and watches as she walks by.


**Author's note: I posted this story on ao3 a while back and I forgot to post it here too. I'm honestly not sure where I'm going with this or if it's going somewhere, but I decided to post anyway just in case. Enjoy! (or not)**

xxx

Every Thursday, he sits there and watches as she walks by.

He doesn't know why he picked Thursdays in the first place. Maybe it was because he knew it was the day she was less busy at the hospital. Maybe it was because on Thursdays she used to come home earlier, and they would sit down on the couch and talk for hours. Maybe it was because sometimes, on those Thursdays, they would cuddle, sometimes they would just make love and forget about time for a while, sometimes they would laugh uncontrollably remembering their past and a lifetime that seemed to have happened so long ago. Or maybe it was because it had been on a Thursday that she got down the stairs with a large bag in her hands and three words in her mouth.

'Mulder, I'm leaving.'

Maybe that was why he picked Thursdays.

She passes, and he observes from a distance. Her lips are shut tight and he knows her too well to know that she's trying not to smile or even laugh at what the man walking alongside her is saying. Is she afraid of laughing? Does she feel guilty for laughing with another man that is not him? Does she have any kind of feeling towards this tall man next to her trying to make her laugh as they walk together? Could he blame her if she does?

He feels something wet in his eyes and realizes his mind has taken him too far, to thoughts he doesn't like to have, that he never thought he would have after so many years with her. He shakes his head and wipes a lonely tear with his thumb. It's not worth thinking about what could have been if things had been different.

To try and change his mood again, he focuses on her hair, on how it moves when the wind blows, how she tucks a strand behind her ear, probably reminding herself she needs to set up an appointment to have it trimmed. He knows that she likes her hair long, that she's gotten used to it, but he also knows the signs of when she is getting irritated by it. The way she tucks it behind her ear and doesn't move her hand away for a few seconds until she's certain it's going to stay there is one of them. He secretly hopes she doesn't cut it too short when she eventually finds the time. He loves her hair like that. He wishes he could touch it now, feel it falling on his face as she kisses him slowly and passionately. He sighs because, once again, his thoughts are taking him to places they shouldn't, places he now knows he will never come back to.

She stops at the door to the restaurant, but this time she doesn't enter, breaking the pattern she has been following for the last couple of weeks. She just stands there, unsure of what to do, as if thinking. He doesn't hear what her companion is saying, but he sees his expression change, as if he were worried. She shakes her head and turns around, as the male doctor observes her for a while and then enters the restaurant alone. He is suddenly worried. Has this doctor been disrespectful to her in anyway? He knows she can fend for herself, but he can't help but feel protective of her, even if they're not together anymore. He feels his heart race as he realizes why she stopped on her tracks and turned around.

He catches her gaze from 100 feet away. She is walking towards him and he is suddenly frozen, unsure of what to do. He didn't intend on being caught when he first started doing this and he never thought he would. He had been careful, hadn't he?

She approaches him, seeming a little uncertain of what to say, but she smiles weakly.

"Hi," she says sheepishly.

He manages to smile back at her.

"Hi"

He doesn't know what to say after that and she is also silent. Their silences before had always been easy, comfortable, but now it seems they filled a void that shouldn't be there.

She looks at her feet.

"Mulder… why are you doing this?"

He is caught by surprise. What does she mean?

"This what, Scully?"

She sighs and looks back at him, eyes focused on his.

"You're here every Thursday. You watch me, but you never come talk to me."

His surprise is all over his face because she can't suppress a chuckle.

"You forget that I was once an FBI agent, too, Mulder."

He relaxes a little.

"I'm sorry, I know this is really creepy. I didn't mean to scare you, or make you think I'm stalking you. I just…" He takes a deep breath, not sure if he should say the next words.

"I miss you too." She says, before he can even process what is happening. Her voice is low and warm, just like it used to be in a time when fights were not constant in their lives.

She comes closer, not too much, just enough to brush her fingers against his.

He feels himself gasp for air. They haven't been this close in at least two months. He feels his heart race with the proximity and he wants to touch her, to kiss her, to make love to her until she is exhausted. This electricity between them had always been what bound them together, tingling every part of their bodies, running through their veins and making their hearts beat faster, making them feel alive every time. If one were to believe in soulmates, they would say that's what Mulder and Scully were to each other, even if life had broken them apart.

He knows she can feel all that too because she closes her eyes as she allows her fingers to intertwine with his, letting out a deep sigh.

"Dana… I'm sorry I hurt you."

The use of her first name is thick on his tongue. It's one of the things he used to do on rare occasions, intimate moments, moments when her last name didn't seem to fit. Maybe using it here, in this right moment, is not the right choice, but he doesn't know what to do to call her attention anymore.

She opens her eyes and he can see they're wet. She smiles while trying to fight back the tears.

"I know."

Her voice is almost a whisper.

Then, she disentangles their hands and slowly backs off, turning around in her shoes and then walking away, with not a single look over her shoulders.

He is left there, dumbfounded, feeling the cool air hit his fingers where her fingers had been not even a minute ago. What did that mean?

Slowly, he gets up from the bench where he is sitting, looking for a sign of her red hair among the people that walk by, but she has already disappeared.


End file.
